Castiel's coat
by Bookjunk
Summary: Four loosely connected one-shots about the trouble Castiel's coat gets him into with Dean. Summer, fall, winter and spring.
1. Summer

**Summer**

'Why don't you go swimming like Sam?' Castiel asked Dean. The hunter was sitting on the bed. Tiny beads of sweat were making their way down his face into his shirt. His legs were also shiny with perspiration under the shorts he was wearing. He was swaying from side to side in time with the moving fan; Castiel didn't have the heart to tell him he only had to push one button and it would remain stationary. Panting, the hunter took off his shirt and threw it aside.

'Because, if I go outside dressed in only this, people bother me,' Dean said and there was no mistaking the smug undertone in his voice. He winked at Castiel. The angel knew what he meant. On the other hand, Sam was also good looking and he _had_ gone swimming. Furthermore, Dean usually liked the attention.

'Then why don't you put on more clothes before you go outside?' he suggested and Dean rolled his eyes. He got up from the bed and stepped in front of the fan. After inspecting it, he pushed the stationary button and glared at Castiel, as if he guessed that the angel had known about that option.

'In weather like this, you don't put on clothes; you take them off,' Dean explained. He walked over to the window and Castiel looked at his glistening back. Muscles moved smoothly underneath the slick skin and Castiel suddenly felt a bit warm. Dean opened the window, but the air that streamed inside was not cool. It was possibly even warmer than the air in the hotel room, so he shut it again.

'Well, why don't you?'

Castiel pointedly stared at Dean's shorts and Dean looked down at them too. A wry expression appeared on the hunter's face.

'How about I don't?'

'Ok,' Castiel answered. It didn't matter to him. He wasn't the one who was sweating profusely. He wasn't the one huffing and puffing and complaining about the unbearable heat every three seconds. Though, Castiel did register a slight rise in his own body temperature. He might even be beginning to perspire. Dean flopped down on the bed and a brief silence followed. Suddenly, Dean sat up straight and looked at him.

'Aren't you hot?' Dean asked. Castiel could feel moisture forming in his hair and threatening to run down his face.

'No,' he lied. In a motion contradicting his lie, he swept his sleeve across his wet forehead. Dean placed his hands on his knees and regarded him curiously.

'You _look_ hot,' Dean said and the hunter cringed slightly after saying it. Apparently, his vessel was not impervious to the heat. Interesting, Castiel thought. It was a smidgen strange, however, because he had been standing close to fire many a times and it had never affected him one iota. How then was this average summer day any different?

'Why don't you take off your coat?' Dean offered, but Castiel wrapped it around himself protectively.

'No, thank you. I prefer to keep it on,' Castiel protested. Dean shrugged and allowed himself to drop onto his back. The fan rattled constantly. Little drops of sweat developed on Dean's stomach and seemed to hesitate before sliding down either the left or the right side of his body. Castiel loosened his tie. Why did Dean have a tan? He never stepped outside with less than a shirt and jeans on.

'Could I get a bit of ventilation too?' Castiel asked in a hoarse voice. The hunter scooted over, so he could lie down beside him. The mattress was warm from the residual heat from Dean's body. Castiel undid the upper button of his shirt. The skin underneath his fingers felt hot. His breathing was a tad faster than normal too.

'Still not taking off your coat?' Dean said softly. Castiel shook his head. The sensation of the cool air blowing against his body was delicious, even through his clothes. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to Dean. To have that coldness ripple over your exposed skin... Now, the temperature in the room was actually kind of nice.

'I love your coat too, but that is ridiculous. It's like a hundred degrees in here,' Dean breathed. The bed moved under them as Dean rolled onto his side and faced Castiel. Castiel felt an overwhelming urge to close his eyes, but it was impossible not to look at Dean. Dean's hands tugged at Castiel's tie briefly, before giving up. His face remained hovering over Castiel and the angel could see every pore and every imperfection. Not true, Castiel thought; Dean is practically perfect. Eventually, Dean lay back, but his hand was still holding Castiel's tie.

'I'm gonna... I don't know. Later maybe,' Dean whispered drowsily. Castiel allowed his eyelids to droop. His hand reached up to curl around Dean's. A pleasant dreamy feeling came over him. Dean's hand felt so right in his. The way it was supposed to be.

'Me too,' he agreed. Just not right now, he thought. Perhaps in a minute. The fan rattled and their breathing steadied. A silence settled over the room as sleep carried them away.

An hour later Sam stopped in front of the door to their room. Water was dripping out of his hair and there was some left in his right ear. He paused in the hallway, tilting his head and stomping his foot. His swimming trunks were too tight. Well, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd worn them, so that was only natural. A relieved sigh escaped his lips when the water seeped out and he heard his ear pop. Sam opened the door and froze when he noticed them.

'Guys? What are you doing?'

Sam was standing in the doorway of the hotel room with a look of utter confusion on his face. His hair was wet and slicked back and a towel was slung across his broad shoulder. Dean and Castiel took one look at his expression before untangling themselves. Castiel removed his hand from Dean's and Dean released his tie. The angel's coat was damp with the hunter's sweat. Creases from his coat were visible on the skin of Dean's stomach.

'Afternoon nap,' Dean said. His voice tried at confident, but instead sounded a bit hesitant. Castiel got up from the bed and straightened his clothes. As he fastened his tie, he could still sense the warmth of Dean's fingers. Sam smirked.

'Looked more like afternoon delight to me.'

They glanced at each other and simultaneously averted their gaze. Castiel had heard that the heat could make people behave erratically, but he'd expected something more along the lines of violence. Not whatever it was that had happened between Dean and him. Not warmth and intimacy and... love? And all because he refused to take off his coat.

The end.


	2. Fall

**Fall**

'Keep your coat to yourself, why don't you?' Dean snapped at him, but Castiel couldn't help it. The wind was whipping around them and his coat merrily flapped along. His upturned collar kept hitting him in the face and the loud sounds turned many heads their way. The leaves were rustling and storm clouds were forming above their heads. The priest was almost yelling to drown out the noise of the wind, so Castiel didn't feel he was entirely responsible for the irritated atmosphere. Dean just didn't like that he was making a spectacle of them.

Castiel's hands were buried deep inside his pockets and he'd buttoned the coat, but it didn't button until the very top or bottom. Its loose fabric was swinging every which way and slapping loudly against his legs. People kept sighing and throwing annoyed glances his way.

'Stop it! It's rude,' Dean hissed. The angel impatiently took his hands out of his pockets and bunched the lower half of his trench coat in his fists. He tried to match Dean's glare.

'_You_ are rude,' he shot back. Sam had wandered away from them and was standing under a big oak, separated from the crowd. The younger Winchester's eyes scrutinised the people gathered around the graveside. Eventually his gaze slid over the gravestones; old and new, cared for and abandoned. No one seemed to be listening to the priest who struggled to be heard.

'Sam,' Dean called out softly, but Sam ignored him. Castiel was contemplating temporarily releasing his coat from his grip to turn his collar down. His left cheek was starting to become raw from the constant punishment doled out by his collar. The sky darkened.

'Sam,' Dean called out again, a little louder. An old woman approached Sam and nudged him, pointing to Dean. Sam looked over at them as if he had never seen them before in his life and shook his head. The woman walked away.

'Great. Now Sam is mad because you're disturbing the service,' Dean groused and he stepped on Castiel's foot. The angel was sure he did it on purpose. Taking his hands off his coat, Castiel pushed him away. Sam shuffled even further away from them.

'_You_ are disturbing the service,' he whispered. Lightning flashed across the sky and was immediately followed by a resounding crack. Softly, it started to rain. The weak drizzle didn't last long. It soon turned into a downpour. The priest looked up as if to say he would have appreciated it if the Almighty Lord had waited until after he'd finished the service. Another flash of light and several people jumped at the thunder. Sam pressed his back against the trunk of the oak.

The priest sped up and after a third impressive rumbling he sloppily ended his sermon and practically fled in the direction of the church. No one stayed around for long. Flowers were unceremoniously thrown into the grave onto the coffin and people left in droves. Dean dragged him to the nearest mausoleum. They sheltered under the narrow arch that led into the tomb.

Castiel didn't mind the rain. It was cleansing. He liked the way it felt on his face and it actually soothed the soreness of his battered cheek. However, standing snug and dry under the archway with Dean was pleasant too. Dean's shoulder was pressed against his in a way that made Castiel's breath hitch in his throat. The wind kept tugging at his coat and he kept his hands pressed flat against his body to keep his coat from flapping.

'Do you see them?'

Dean stared straight into his eyes as he asked the question. The tip of his nose was less than an inch away from Castiel's nose. His breath was warm on Castiel's face. A feeling of bewilderment came over Castiel. How easy it would be to lean in a little, he thought. Unaware, he eased up on his pressure on the coat and reached out for Dean.

'The demons we're looking for? You see 'em?' Dean prodded and Castiel's coat billowed up in a sudden gust of wind. The coat's tails trashed wildly against Dean's legs and the wall. Its sound reverberated throughout the cemetery. With an annoyed sigh, Dean looked at him and whispered, 'Would you stop it with the coat? You're driving me crazy.'

'It's not my fault,' Castiel mumbled back as he tried to recapture the coat, but it kept getting away from him. Without a warning, Dean pushed him against the stone wall, his entire body plastered against the front of Castiel's body. Castiel whimpered involuntarily, but Dean shushed him. The coat was silenced too, being caught between the wall and two bodies.

'They're going to hear your stupid coat,' Dean said softly and as he glanced at Castiel, 'You're the most annoying angel I've ever known, you know that?' That hurt the angel's feelings a little bit, because he'd always thought that Dean liked his coat. However, it was difficult to dwell on such matters with Dean so close to him. He could literally feel Dean breathing, his stomach faintly moving in and out in time with his own breathing.

'_You_ are annoying,' he said, but Dean barely reacted at first. He was too busy scanning the graveyard, though not much could be seen through the thick sheets of rain. The wall that Dean was pushing Castiel against was damp and cold, but Castiel felt it was nicely counteracted by Dean's warm body.

'Stop doing that. Stop turning around what I say,' Dean muttered. It sounded beyond annoyed and Castiel didn't want to get into a shoving match again. They were already lowering their heads to fit under the archway and if they started to push each other, they'd most likely either slip down the steps into the tomb or smash their heads into the ceiling. Still, he felt that he needed to retort.

'_You_ stop it.'

Dean glared at him angrily and ground him even deeper into the wall: something Castiel hadn't thought possible. His body was reacting in unexpected ways. Dean's was too, Castiel noticed. It was as if he could feel the blood coursing through their veins and he could hear their heartbeats in his ears. It was true that he had exceptionally good hearing, but it still made him feel funny to hear the accelerated thumping of Dean's heart.

'Are you two having a moment again? Should I come back later?' Sam's voice broke in. He ducked into the archway too, bending even lower to accommodate his tall frame. Dean looked mightily embarrassed, but for some reason he rubbed against Castiel's body once more before stepping away. Sam was too preoccupied with shaking his head like a wet dog to notice.

'Shut it, Sam,' Dean responded, but then he winked suggestively at Castiel. The angel flushed as his coat began to flap again.

'We were most definitely not having a moment,' Castiel replied in a haughty voice, but neither brother was convinced. He wrapped his coat tighter around him. It wasn't to prevent it from making a ruckus. There was a hardness in his trousers that needed covering up. Meanwhile, Dean's jacket didn't reach his waist, but the hunter had conveniently turned his body toward the cemetery, away from Sam and Castiel. Still, Castiel could see the outline of an impressive bulge in the hunter's pants.

They stood in silence, trying to look outside to ascertain if the demons had arrived, but nothing could be seen but rain and nothing could be heard but its rhythmic patter. On the soggy grass, on the gravestones, on the roof of the mausoleum; it kept going for almost half an hour, before stopping rather suddenly. Sam was the first one to step out into the open. He declared the graveyard deserted and insist they go home. Clearly, no demons were going to show up today. He walked ahead to the car.

Dean looked at Castiel and lightly touched his cheek.

'Did I do that?' he asked. Castiel mimicked his coat's collar hitting him in the face.

'Ah,' Dean said, but he didn't take away his fingers. The hunter frowned at him as if there was something that he didn't comprehend. Something at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite get to. Then he dropped his hand and smiled.

'Let's go. When we get to the car call shotgun. I bet Sam forgot,' Dean instructed the angel. Without understanding a word of what Dean had said, Castiel nodded. Where you lead I will follow, Castiel thought and he affectionately patted his coat. Watching the hunter's retreating back, he wondered about what had just happened. It had most definitely been a moment. An intimate moment and he'd thoroughly enjoyed it.

The end.


	3. Winter

**Winter**

They were deep inside a forest and struggling through the blinding snow. Castiel had offered several times to transport them to their location, but both brothers refused. All that was visible of Sam was the tip of his nose; the rest of his face was hidden behind the fur lining of his hood. His thick coat made him look even more massive than usual and Dean had ridiculed his appearance when they left. Apparently, Sam resembled something out of a film called _Ghostbusters_. Now it was Sam's turn to laugh, because Dean was shivering in his leather jacket.

It had been cold when they set out on the hunt, but after half an hour it had started snowing and now it was even colder. Not that Castiel could feel anything. He was just going by the fact that Dean kept obsessively rubbing his hands together and that the hunter's lips were turning blue.

'I'm fucking freezing,' Dean groaned. Without turning around, Sam told him to stop bitching.

'Ok, Stay Puft marshmallow man,' Dean responded. The younger Winchester pretended not to hear him and kept forging ahead. This would be a lot more efficient if Dean just followed after his brother, which Castiel had pointed out, but as usual Dean didn't listen to him. He insisted on tracing his own path through the snow. The entire time he had been moaning and complaining. He'd called Castiel a crappy elf, because his feet sank into the snow the same as the brothers.

'I'm an angel,' Castiel had corrected him, but Dean had just rolled his eyes. Other than that, Dean's contribution to the expedition had been to repeatedly make remarks about how cold it was. Several times Castiel had been forced to help him out, because Dean kept taking the most difficult route through the trees where the layer of snow was the thickest.

'You can have my coat. I don't need it,' Castiel offered and he took off his coat. Without waiting for Dean's permission, knowing he wouldn't get it, he pulled Dean's right arm through the sleeve and walked behind Dean. In doing so, his hand brushed Dean's and the hunter's hand felt unnaturally stiff.

'Like a trench coat is going to keep me...' Dean started to protest, but by then Castiel had draped the coat over his shoulders. Dean quickly pulled his other arm through the left sleeve.

'Hey, this is surprisingly warm,' Dean said. He looked lumpy with his jacket underneath the trench coat, yet still good.

'It's insulated,' Castiel said and he watched for a second as Dean's fumbled with the buttons. His fingers didn't seem to be bending properly, probably due to the cold. Swatting away Dean's hands, Castiel stepped in front of him and began to button them for him. He worked from bottom to top, ending with the button below Dean's chin. For good measure, he turned up the collar too for maximum protection from the cold.

'Thanks, Cas,' Dean mumbled. Castiel liked that nickname. _Cas_. He liked it even more when Dean was the one who said it. The continual crunching of snow stopped, but Castiel didn't notice. They stared into each other's eyes. Maybe a fraction too long. Castiel's hands clasped Dean's and he started to rub. The hunter sighed with pleasure.

That was better than the nickname. To see those lips try to articulate a feeling of delight that Castiel had produced in Dean. When circulation returned and Dean's hands started to become flushed, Castiel released them. Almost unconsciously, the angel raised one hand to touch Dean's lips. They still looked awfully blue. Maybe kissing them would make them warm again. Just thinking of that made _him_ feel warm inside at least.

Those eyes; who could he not have noticed before how exquisite Dean's eyes were? The hunter remained standing so still and very far away that sound of snow being trampled started up again. It approached. There was something in Dean's eyes. A flicker of amusement, as he observed how Castiel leaned closer.

'Done flirting?'

Sam's voice cut through the silence and Castiel opened his eyes. It was odd, because he hadn't been aware of closing them in the first place. Their lips were nearly touching and Dean peered at him through his eye lashes. That amused look in his eyes had resurfaced. It softened and then disappeared when Castiel backed away.

Lowering his hood for the express purpose of showing them his massive eye roll, Sam was already taking off again before one of them could say anything. Was that _flirting_? Castiel had been given to understand that flirting involved giggling and hair tossing and pretending to be shy, but perhaps that was just for women. Suddenly, Dean grabbed his right hand and squeezed.

'Thanks for the help,' he said. Then he peered through the drifting snow to see whether Sam was looking and faced Castiel. Dean's fingers straightened his tie, though Castiel was sure it did not need straightening. The hunter let the tie slip through his hand and playfully tugged on it, bringing Castiel's face closer.

'No reason not to look good,' Dean explained as he let go. The angel stared after him as he trotted off. That was flirting. Touching when it wasn't necessary, leaning in close when it wasn't necessary, complimenting him. Castiel was reasonably confident that it was flirting, but why would Dean flirt with him?

'Keep up. Don't wanna lose you,' Dean called out. Castiel began to run. It was rather more of a clumsy gallop, because the snow covered ground didn't allow for a graceful sprint. Several times he nearly slipped, but he didn't stop before he had caught up with Dean. Dean smiled at him and then promptly stepped into a snow bank. The soft, powdery snow reached up to Dean's waist. Instead of loudly complaining, he grinned and extended his arms towards Castiel.

'Dear me. Looks like you're going to have to help me out,' Dean said in a sort of mocking voice and he wiggled his hands, indicating for Castiel to grab them and pull him out. _Dear me?_ That didn't sound like Dean at all. Blow me. That was something Dean would say and had said to him in the past. The implications of that particular phrase were only now starting to become clear to Castiel and if he was capable of blushing he believed he would have done so at that moment.

'Come on. Don't just stand there,' Dean urged, but when Castiel braced himself in the slippery snow and grabbed Dean's hands, Dean pulled hard. Caught off guard, Castiel stumbled and bumped into Dean; taking him with him in his fall. They rolled over each other, until they landed in an even bigger pile of snow.

'Dean, are you alright?' Castiel asked, as he hurried to his friend's side. Dean was making weird sounds, which disconcerted Castiel until he realised that the hunter was laughing. Before Castiel could stop him, Dean had shoved a handful of snow in his mouth. Filled with indignation, Castiel sputtered.

'What are you doing? You're getting yourself wet and then you'll be even colder,' he protested, but Dean simply pushed him over.

'Dean!' Castiel yelled. Not heeding his warning tone, Dean started to throw snow at him. There was this look of pure and unadulterated joy on Dean's face that Castiel had not seen before. Castiel kept attempting to get up, but Dean kept shoving him down. Eventually, Castiel had to pin the hunter to the ground to get him to stop.

They were both panting. There were snowflakes everywhere: in their hair, stuck to their eyelashes, on their clothes, rapidly melting.

'Cas,' Dean breathed. The way Dean said his name almost made Castiel melt. Don't be ridiculous, he thought; people don't melt. Nor do they spontaneously combust, no matter how much Dean tried to convince him otherwise. Someone cleared his throat. Loudly and repeatedly. They looked up to see Sam staring down at them with an exasperated expression on his face.

'Can we focus on the mission for a second? This is not beauty and the beast,' Sam snapped.

'Sam is completely right. Look at us: we're two beauties,' Dean said. Castiel felt the irrational desire to blush again. Instead he climbed off of Dean and helped the hunter to his feet. They inspected each other and Castiel was glad that Dean had on his trench coat. Without it he would now be a giant clump of ice. Businesslike, Castiel proceeded to pat the hunter down, removing snow from his hair, his face and eventually his jeans. Throughout it Dean had this smirk on his face that Castiel didn't understand.

Afterwards, Dean did the same for him, but he took longer. Sam stared at his brother as if something was finally making sense while all other things had stopped making sense. When Dean noticed the look, he shrugged.

'What? Just being thorough.'

They continued. Sam insisted on Dean taking the lead and Sam walking between him and Castiel. Dean's behaviour was odd and Castiel was worried that something might be wrong with the older Winchester. Soon afterwards, Dean started to shiver violently, which was undoubtedly the result of that curious interlude in the snow. When Dean half turned and caught his concerned glance; he silently mouthed something. Even through the heavy snow, Castiel could deduce the words his lips formed.

'Worth it.'

The end.


	4. Spring

**Spring**

It was shaping up to be one of those quintessential spring days. Birds were twittering, the weather was mildly warm and a soft breeze danced around the field. Castiel could hear flowers turning towards the sunlight and slightly opening. The wonders of creation; they never ceased to amaze him.

He followed the flowers' example and turned his face toward the sun. The grass was damp with dew and it made a squishy sound as he approached Dean. Sam was putting their weapons back in the trunk of the car, while Dean stared at the rising sun. They had fought for the greater part of the night. Castiel felt kind of tired; something he still wasn't used to feeling. Every new human weakness he discovered made him wary.

Dean shielded his eyes, though the sun was nowhere near bright enough for the gesture to be necessary and glanced at Castiel. The upturned face of the angel made Dean smile; Castiel could see it. Although he didn't need to see it: he could _feel _Dean smile. Whether this was another one of those things humans were capable of was dubious. Not once had Castiel known that Sam was smiling when he couldn't see him, but with Dean he experienced the curious sensation all the time.

The Impala was parked on a small hill overlooking a field. It was just a meadow. It was just grass. Not a field of poppies or tulips or roses or anything like that. Still, it was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. After Dean, of course. That thought scared him and he turned around and walked away from the hunter. He paused at the edge of the field. The grass was shimmering in the sun with little drops of morning dew.

Slowly, he took off his trench coat and spread it out on the recently mowed grass. There was a nice contrast between the short grass covering the hill and the long, gently waving grass of the pasture. He sat down on his coat. This was life, wasn't it? All he needed to do was lie back and close his eyes. After the night they'd had, he would probably drift off to sleep instantly.

'Mind if I sit?' Dean asked and Castiel looked up at him. The hunter was framed by the light and his face was obscured. Languidly, Castiel shook his head and patted the coat to the right of him. Dean's knee bumped into his as he kneeled. Now the coat was rather useless, because his jeans were already wet with dew. Before sitting down, Dean smoothed out the coat. Dean's motions were slow and careful as Castiel looked at the dark patches developing around Dean's knees.

It reminded Castiel of a poem that Sam had shown him once in an effort to impress on Castiel the wonderful things that mankind could produce. Castiel hadn't needed to be convinced. He liked mankind. It was hard to argue who created better things, however. Men had poetry and literature and art and music. God had Dean. Not to mention that if God hadn't created men there wouldn't be any creations by men either, so the argument was quite pointless.

The poem was called _He wishes for the cloths of heaven_ and Castiel suspected that Sam had chosen it because of its divine connotations. The part he liked best was about the dreams.

'I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.'

They had whispered above Sam's laptop, because Dean was asleep and Castiel had glanced at Dean. Castiel hadn't fully understood the poem, despite Sam's repeated insistence that it was metaphorical. Now he thought that he might grasp its meaning. Yet, even that night when he had looked at Dean he had felt something. It had been completely unfamiliar at the time, long before human emotions and feelings had started to constantly encroach upon his existence.

The emotion that had welled up in him had been hard to identify at the time. It had felt a bit like devotion, but it couldn't have been. Devotion was meant for his father. All the same, Castiel had known that he would not hesitate to spread his dreams under Dean's feet and, what was more, Dean would not trample them. The hunter would treat them like he treated Castiel's coat: with tenderness.

Knowing Dean, he wouldn't mind that it wasn't the cloths of heaven. Apart from the fact that it complicated their fights with demons, Dean didn't seem to mind terribly that he was slowly losing his angelic powers. Perhaps the fact that it would be merely Castiel's dreams would be to Dean's liking.

Nowadays, Castiel did dream. He slept and dreamed. It could be pleasant, but it could also be deeply unpleasant. Some dreams were of better days in heaven. Of having conviction and knowing the difference between right and wrong without having to think about it. The feeling of flying. Castiel had always enjoyed flying.

Other times the dreams were bad. Then they were nightmares. Castiel would die. That was so strange. To die. Suddenly, that had become a much more real possibility than it had ever been. Sometimes, he witnessed Sam's death and stood by while Dean fell apart. That was difficult to watch. Or Dean would die and something would rip through Castiel. Those were easily the worst: the dreams where Dean died. Castiel would struggle to wake up and fight the desire to call Dean to make sure he was alright, because if Dean was alright Castiel was alright too.

Those were not the metaphorical dreams that were meant, however. The dreams that were meant were hopes. The things you wished for and wanted out of life. Castiel briefly glanced at Dean. Dean was shading his eyes again with one hand, the left hand left on the coat.

Increasingly, Castiel found himself wondering about what would happen. What would the future look like? How long would it stay this way; fighting with Dean and Sam? What if the fighting stopped? What would they do? What would Castiel do? He was afraid that he had come to have a dream. It was an impossible dream; even more preposterous than dreaming of winning the lottery. _That _might actually happen, though Dean used to say that your chances greatly improved if you bought a lottery ticket.

Dean was human and he was an angel. That was not going to change. Angels watched. Angels were obedient. In the last few years those two had not been true. They had stopped watching and Castiel had disobeyed. Yet, if the fighting ceased someday, they would most likely return to their old ways. They would observe and definitely not participate.

Thus, to dream of life, of living, was futile. An utter waste of time; but he couldn't stop himself. He thought about it almost constantly. Whenever he thought about it, he also thought about things that had, until recently, seemed only tangentially related.

Dean's hands. Nice hands. Strong hands. Violent hands, but somehow also loving hands. Those hands holding Castiel's tie.

The car with Dean behind the wheel. Castiel riding shotgun. Sam, for some reason, not there.

That amused look in Dean's eyes that puzzled him. All Castiel had to do was stare at Dean a little too long and Dean would get that look in his eyes.

When Castiel thought about the future and really living; he thought about Dean. It was, he had realised, because he wanted to be with Dean. Because he loved Dean. Much more than he should. It wasn't right, how much he loved Dean. He had tried to stop, but discovered that he couldn't. He had tried to love him less, but he couldn't even manage that.

He had asked Sam about it. Subtly, he thought, without mentioning Dean. He had simply spoken about wanting something too much. Something that wasn't right. Sam had called it an addiction. There were symptoms and they matched what Castiel felt.

Caring for Dean had started out slow and harmless before turning into this all consuming love. He relied too much on Dean. Dean filled a valuable need. Being away from Dean was hard. Dean filled a void. His attachment to Dean had most definitely affected Castiel's work. Rebelling was not something he thought he would ever have done without Dean.

An addiction was a bad thing. Yet, he was better off with Dean than without Dean, Castiel felt. There had been a long time when he had stayed away from Dean, allowing Dean to have the normal life that he wanted. It had felt bleak and joyless. It was much better now.

'And where am I supposed to sit?' Sam asked, breaking into Castiel's thoughts. There was no room left on the coat for him. Furthermore, Castiel liked sitting there with Dean. Almost touching. Dean looked at Castiel and that amused look was in his eyes. It tugged at the corners of his mouth, but it didn't become a smile.

'Just make out already,' Sam muttered, disgruntled. Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel. Dean's lips brushed softly against his and then pressed a little firmer and then it was over. Dean leaned back with a satisfied look on his face and Castiel had to resist the urge to touch his own lips. Did that just happen? Judging by the open mouthed stare of Sam: yes, it did.

'There. Happy now?' Dean asked. Sam stared at them some more. Finally, he seemed to come to his senses and mumbled something vague about the car. He trotted off in that direction, still looking dazed. Castiel watched him retreat and then turned to Dean. The smile was no longer contained in the hunter's eyes; it had now reached his lips. Dean touched his hand, slowly running a nail from Castiel's wrist, over his palm, to the tip of his middle finger.

'We could to that properly, maybe later?' Dean whispered and, completely unnecessary in Castiel's opinion, added, 'If you want to.'

Castiel gave an eager nod. Dean stretched out on the grass and pulled Castiel with him. The dew immediately soaked through the back of Castiel's suit and he couldn't care less. His feelings defied description. To know that Dean had never wanted the cloths of heaven, but was happy with just the coat of a wayward angel was wonderful.

(***)

There they were. They were touching and not touching. Right there and far away. Letting go and holding on. Lying and flying. Wide awake and dreaming.

One of them thought that maybe it was alright to make plans. To want. To hope. To love.

The other one was thinking about that kiss and more kisses. About one little nod changing his world. About having known all along. About never feeling alone again.

Dean and Castiel: sometimes barely even friends, but always in love. There they were, on Castiel's coat. The hunter and the angel.

The end.

(***)

_He wishes for the cloths of heaven_ is a poem by W.B. Yeats.


End file.
